Left 4 Dead 2: Heaven Better Not Want You
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: I have so much to say to you, but the only thought that resides at the forefront of my mind is "see you in hell." Oneshot. Tragedy/Angst. Nick/Ellis. Slash. Nick's POV.


**Author's Note:** Very emotionally charged. It made me feel better to write it, as if some inner Angst!Demon was being let out of my heart.

Oneshot. Tragedy/Angst. Nick/Ellis. Slash. Nick's POV.

**Disclaimer: **I own no one mentioned.

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks be to Amanda for reading this over, as always. Yarrr.

**Summary:** I have so much to say to you, but the only thought that resides at the forefront of my mind is "see you in hell."

**Heaven Better Not Want You**

It shouldn't have happened. Both you and I know that – yet neither of us could stop it. We were the culprits behind a massive earthquake that shook us both to the core and the tsunami that followed took you away. Swept you far out to sea. And now you're dead.

I know you're dead. It's a fucking fact, and I don't know how to deal with it. God damn it – it was just us and you had to fucking go and leave me. And now you're dead, lying on some street by yourself, all frozen and clammy with your striking blue eyes staring up at the gray clouds that are pressing in on the earth. Your left hand is probably outstretched, permanently reaching for something unknown, and maybe you're holding a gun in your right hand or your weapon is nearby. Yet your heart is no longer pumping, your brain's no longer sending electrical impulses. You're no longer alive.

It shouldn't have happened. I can't reiterate that enough. Those four words keep repeating inside my mind, and I can't get the image of you opening the safe house door and then leaving into the cold, dreary night out of my head. You didn't even look back. Not even as I watched you through the bars in the door – not once, Ellis. You God damn hick. Not FUCKING ONCE.

I'm SORRY, okay? I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you leave. I can't even remember what I said that made you so furious. I can still see the look in your eyes when you pulled back your fist and socked me in the jaw. The shock of the hit gave me the worst headache of my life, and I can't even open my mouth right now, but I probably deserved it. Okay? I can admit that I deserved it.

But how the hell did I warrant being left alone? You were all I had! If you went on to the next safe house, you stupid prick, then I'll probably come across your waterlogged corpse in the downpour that started shortly after you abandoned me.

You left in such a hurry that you forgot your hat. That's another thing I can't believe. That stupid hat was the most important thing in your life. I know you didn't give a shit about me. If you cared, you wouldn't have deserted me.

I can feel my nostrils flaring. My jaw is clenching, which sends bright flickers of pain flashing before my eyes. You took all the damn pain pills with you. Another thing I can't come to terms with, how much of an asshole you were. My stomach muscles are contracting, trying to stop the inevitable from occurring. My vision is blurring, a large amount of wetness forming along my bottom lashes. It won't be long before the tears start rolling down my cheeks, before I'm howling in despair, in agony.

You couldn't possibly know how sorry I am. For everything. For what I did to you. Maybe it'd been one joke too many. Maybe it'd been another insult that I couldn't hold back. But most likely it was me finally crushing your spirit; I finally made you realize that there was no getting out of this. And even if we were inexplicably rescued, we'd be haunted by the experience every single day of our lives. The Sandman would bring no comfort, and the daylight hours can't last forever. Did I tell you that every time you'd go to sleep in your nice warm bed, you'd have nightmares? Terrifying dreams that would follow you while you were awake too? Did I mention that every step you took after you'd been rescued would feel like you were fleeing for your life? That there was danger around every corner? How you'd always be glancing over your shoulder and that you'd flinch at every strange noise?

Ellis, you just didn't understand that there is no going back after this. But you won't have to worry about that after all. You're dead. Your blank gaze is being pounded by raindrops as I sit here in the dark. Maybe even an infected has stumbled over you as it continues to weed out those still alive and healthy in the city.

You're dead, and yet I'm still having this imaginary conversation with you like you're sitting right across from me. Like I – I could reach out and touch you, feel the warmth of your supple, youthful skin, the light stubble across your jaw and cheeks, the soft strands of your rich brown hair.

You aren't there, though. I just checked. Reached out my desperate fingers into the gloom and felt absolutely nothing but the stillness of musty air. You aren't there.

Right when I need you most, you aren't there. No, you've moved on. Escaped this hell and left me in the middle of it!

You didn't have to leave. Didn't you know that I'd apologize as soon as I could find the right words to smooth this fight over? I didn't mean to make you that livid. I'm a fucking asshole, for Chrissakes, it's what I do! You didn't need to flip shit and commit fucking suicide!

My fingers are going numb, they're wrapped so tightly up in a fist. My whole body is tense, wrath and anguish – a deadly combination – coursing rapidly through the pathways of my body. If you were here right now, I'd punch you in the stomach, make you wheeze, make you apologize for abandoning me in-between your gasping breaths. If you were here right now, I'd hug the shit out of you. I'd pull you right to my chest, feel your broad shoulders against mine, and my arms would be wrapped so taut around you, you couldn't breathe.

Kind of hard to hug a dead person, though.

Ellis, man … I'm sorry. I should've said it before you left. I could've yelled it to you as you stoically walked away from me, the safe house, and all its supplies. But I didn't and for that … I have no excuse.

Maybe I thought you'd look back, or perhaps I figured you wouldn't have the balls to leave your life behind. I was wrong. And because of me, you're dead. Just another statistic in this cold, calculating war against God's population control.

I know I'll never be able to forgive myself. I know I'll rot in hell for this. But you better remember, you son of a bitch, that wherever you go – hell, heaven, purgatory, limbo – those there will tell you one thing: You could've turned around. You could've turned on your heel and walked right back to me. But you didn't.

So I guess in reality, this was a murder/suicide – I killed you, and you helped me do it.

I don't think I ever told you this, Ellis, so I'll say it once: I need you. Not just because of the fact that if I go at this alone, I'll be dead too, but because you make me feel alive. I guess none of that sentimental shit matters now, though. I keep hoping that I'm mistaken and you'll show up at the door, telling me to let you in before you get killed, but that's not going to occur.

It's been hours. You've been out in the cold and the dark and the rain for hours, and you aren't coming back.

You're dead, and soon your fate will be mine.


End file.
